


dear corpse

by miehczyslaw



Category: DOGS (Manga)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dark fic, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Introspection, Is this fandom even alive, Mild Gore, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 09:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16700029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miehczyslaw/pseuds/miehczyslaw
Summary: The seasons don’t fear the reaper, but they do fear Lily.





	dear corpse

**Author's Note:**

> i always have the worst kind of otps ahahahahaha uhm so yeah,

Because her hands are warm cold cold warm

like the ambrosia of God(dess)— pagan, heretic— she who laughs scornfully, shakes her lead eyelashes of industrial metal with elegance and raises children who are not afraid of what lies under their bed since they are all monsters.

The seasons don’t fear the reaper, but they do fear Lily.

X

Because her hands smash break scratch

and are so fragile, she draws on the floor the petals of a flower she does not know— _dream within a dream_ — with the flesh of an old friend and the stem of that flower its a spine still wet

that drips and drips and drips again.

Except that she uses crayons, the ones that Giovanni lends her, sweet and shy. She blinks. Except that the carnage is only in her mind, locked in a basement with a padlock and rusted chains. She blinks. Except that the carnage is a rabid wolf and wants to go out and play and eat...

(its hungry for violence.)

She blinks.

It turns out that Lily _hates everything_.

X

Because her hands are trembling hesitating shaking yearning

Lily thinks that she would like to push life, see it fall to the floor abruptly, kick it and then see it begging in vain so she can nail her teeth to its undone soul and stop everything (she and _she_ and).

One minute. One second. A breath.

“ _Please_ —”

She needs to stop the deafening noise, the weeping of dirty puddle, the screams of smoke and the voices of agony. The laughter of Angelika that says: “Sweet little girl of mine, kill for my love.” Wich detonates the bomb. Tic, tac. Tic, tac.

Let the black and red disappear, but not the red of Heine's eyes, nonono. Not even red of his warm blood that accompanies her at night, as they embrace each other, very tight.

(’cause she loves him— there between the skin and muscles and bones.)

X

Because her hands have nothing to hold

that is not a corpse or her hopes fading with haste, Heine takes them in his own, delicately, as if he’s afraid to break her more.

And isn’t that funny? A monster being protected?

But her sewer tears have already ruined the art of a decaying body, the one that lies motionless in front of their feet. _And we are beaten dogs, we are pistols without a cartridge,_

 _we are nobody_.

Lily hates herself, honestly.

Everything is pain. Enough pain. Very little pain. Very much pain.

She’s afraid. Of those salt walls, devoid of windows or doors. Of that white room full of darkness and lacking in light. Of herself. von Angelika dämonischen Engel. Never of Heine. Everything’s too much, however.

Nightmares devour her.

X

Because her hands are flowers and poisoned spring

little birds that sing a funeral hymn with their broken picks.

“Lily, Lily, Lily,” Heine calls her, and caresses her cheeks. Lily wakes up (it turns out that there was never a dream). She blinks, again. “Everything is fine.” And everything is _red_ around them and there’s a stench of death and Heine looks at her as if desperate, still gently tracing her cheeks. “It's all over.”

_You don’t have to keep murdering, okay?_

Even if the collar tightens her throat and Lily knows that she has been a bad pet and that mother is going to punish her eventually. Even so—

“Yeah... yes,” she says softly. “I'm fine now Heine.”

(at least when you are by my side.)

She realizes that it’s not a lie. And she wants to cry, cry until she becomes dust.

But.

Heine takes her hand-branches and kisses each bloodied knuckle. Heine licks her milk skin with patience and her bones too until they're clean. Heine turns off the phosphorous barks that torment her so much. Heine holds her fractured lungs, buries his nails in her back and bandages around the wounds that have healed, that will never heal. Heine fraternizes with Kerberos and loses himself in the darkness, the playground of Goddess mother. Heine loses control like her, _with her_.

It’s quite simple. Because they are Giovanni and Heine and Lily, but also HeineandLily. Always HeineandLily.  
— rotten eggs.

She, scavenger butterfly.

He, dog without muzzle.

X

Because her hands are warm cold cold warm

 _there is no freedom_ , just her guts like a carpet and Heine curled up on these.

And because Persephone is doomed to wither like a flower Hades venerates her ghost and takes her out to dance with the dead (they only know how to bark— to each other.)

 _It doesn’t hurt anymore_.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

It doesn’t...


End file.
